I hate housework.
I've always hated housework.
When I was younger, before I got hurt, I could, at least, do housework.
Now that I can't do much, I hate it even worse because my options are as follows:
1. Hire someone, and the person is rarely found that actually dusts well. Most of the women I've hired dust around the objects on the table, never removing them, much less dusting them. This is not dusting, people. This is piddling around. Even after I explain to a prospective cleaner how hard my house is to dust, how dusty it gets, and how this is the most important reason they are being hired, though they may nod and smile, they still piddle.
2. Nag, whine, pout, explode, fret, bellow, etc. for my family to clean the house. Daughter right now is vacuuming her little heart out. Husband re-potted stuff this morning for me and is running errands. Don't get me wrong, they are good people. The thing is, the vacuuming needed doing Monday, this is Thursday. The re-potting needed done last fall.
Stuff that is very important to me to get done, is not very important to them. I try to reason with myself and say that the world won't come to an end if the twenty pounds of cat and dog hair float around the house like tumbleweeds, I just wish it would.
I have fantasies of grabbing the vacuum cleaner and doing it myself, thereby guaranteeing, if not a trip to the ER, at least a whole day in bed with pain pills and tears.
Boy, that would show 'em!
If I had a full time maid, who actually worked, this house could be really clean.
I don't think those exist anymore, or if they do, it is so far out of my financial ballpark, I don't know of their existence. Same difference.
I've thought about shaving the dog and cats. Maybe moving away and living in a bubble. It's even crossed my mind to try and live with it, but as hard as I try, it just builds and builds and I become mad as an old wet hen.
There has to be a solution.
If there weren't so many tumbleweeds rolling about, perhaps I could see it.
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